Pieces of Us
by mktoddsparky
Summary: It's one thing to abandon them in a parallel universe, but to take Jackie back to the real universe when Rose is still stuck? Yeah, Jackie is gonna do far more than slap him. Castrate him, more like. She doesn't believe it when Rose claims they never did anything aboard the alien ship. She isn't blind. She can see the way they've always looked at each other.


_Pieces of Us_

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**a/n:** The middle part of the story takes place at the end of 1x05 (World War Three.) The rest of the story basically follows the Doomsday plotline. Sorry for any tears. Reviews are welcome (:

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_**~.~.~**_

* * *

_What if this storm ends_

_and I don't see you,_

_as you are now,_

_ever again?_

_The perfect halo,_

_of gold hair and lightning._

* * *

_**~.~.~**_

* * *

Jackie can see them talking.

They're close together, him in classic pinstripes and Rose in that ugly blue sweater that Jackie begged her not to buy. _("But mum, it's on sale." "Anything that looks like blueberries vomited on it is not worth your money, Rose."_) Though she can't hear them talking, Jackie can imagine it well enough on her own. After seeing the expression on Rose's face as she vowed not to let the Doctor travel on his own, after watching the Doctor approach her with a frightening sort of bleakness in his eyes, they're can be no doubt what words they're sharing.

Jackie takes Pete's hand. His fingers are shaking.

Rose begins to bend at the waist. Even with the wind howling, Jackie can make out the sound of muffled sobs.

_Not again, you blasted alien_. It might be rude for Jackie to think that way, but after what they've been through, she's got the right. That's her daughter, isn't it? The same one that near cried herself into unconsciousness the few days after they were trapped here. Jackie doesn't think it's that bad. Sure, there's a few more blimps in the sky, and Pete isn't really _her_ Pete. (She tries not to think of a blonde girl holding Pete's hand as he dies in the street, and fails.) But if they're got to be trapped then it might as well be together as a family.

But Rose...Jackie had stayed near at her daughter's bedside for three days as Rose tried desperately to contort herself into a position small enough that she might disappear into the mattress and reappear on the TARDIS. (What sort of name is that anyway? _Tar-dis_. Even _that_ sounds alien.) After those three days, Jackie had awoken to silence. Raising her head up off of Rose's chest, Jackie had been prepared to deal with a fresh onslaught of tears. But Rose hadn't been crying, just lying there staring at her mother with faint amusement on her face. But her eyes - oh, her eyes. Jackie still whispers about them over tea with Pete on occasion.

There hadn't been pain in them. Not happiness, or much beyond basic recognition. Just empty, flat. They'd remained that way until last night, when Jackie had been shaken awake by frantic hands. _("Mum. Mum!" "What- what is it sweetie?" "Mum, you've gotta wake up." "Rose, is that...you should be sleepin'." "It's the Doctor, Mum. I heard him, in my head. Please, we've got to - he's callin' me, Mum.") _Jackie had looked up owlishly, wincing when a tear rolled off Rose's cheek and dropped onto her nose. Ignoring the nausea rolling up her throat (the first trimester had been just as hard with Rose,) Jackie had grabbed Pete and they'd followed Rose out to the kitchen to hear her out.

Jackie grips Pete's hand tighter as her stomach twists again. He squeezes back as she ignores the increasing desire to throw up.

That's what they do now: ignore themselves. It isn't ideal, but Jackie doesn't feel as though she's got a choice when Rose is wasting away.

The wind picks up, scattering rocks across the barren ground. The ocean roars, waves lapping eagerly at the shore. The Doctor's face twists into a painful smile that Jackie never wants to see again if she can help it. If he's going to be sticking around, that is. Rose doesn't sound happy, but why else would the Doctor be here if not to stay with Rose? He owes her that much, after nearly killing her all those times. Jackie is going to slap him again if he tries to pull something.

Then, suddenly, he's gone. Just gone and faded away. Rose lets out a choked sob, folding completely into herself.

(Yeah, Jackie is gonna do far more than slap him. Castrate him, more like. She doesn't believe it when Rose claims they never did anything aboard the alien ship. She isn't blind. She can see the way they look at each other, the way they've always looked at each other.)

Just as Jackie moves forward to get to Rose, releasing Pete's hand in the process, fingers settle gently on her shoulder. She whirls, right hand raising automatically, but it's only the Doctor, the arrogant _little_ - or, is it? His eyes look even more ancient, if that's possible, and there isn't the same expression of grief in them that Rose's Doctor had just been wearing. There is still an ache, clear enough, but it has settled into the lines of his face. His normally bouncy hair looks positively droopy. (He must've fired the hairdresser aboard his ship, Jackie rationalizes. How else would he get it that fluffed?)

He doesn't speak, but Jackie still hears the word in her head. '_Please_.'

She swallows, mouth dry, and then nods without really knowing why. His hand tightens on her shoulder and everything fades away.

The last sound Jackie hears is a tiny sob. _Rose._ Her heart constricts, and Jackie turns to give the Doctor a piece of her mind. "Listen here, spacemen. I don't know what they taught you back home, but where _I'm_ from-"

With a gulp, Jackie cuts herself off. She's back at home; her real home, not the one in Pete's World. Everything looks as it was. She'd have expected there to be some dust or something, unless they've already sold the place. (Somehow that makes her quite sad. She and Pete had poured everything into this little flat, and when she'd lost Pete, Jackie had been forced to pick up extra jobs here and there just to make the payments. Even then, she couldn't make Rose understand why, year after year, there would never be any presents under the tree.) But all the pictures are here. With a tiny smile, Jackie runs her fingers over a picture of eight-year old Rose in her frilly pink uniform, bronze trophy in hand.

She freezes all over again when she hears herself in the kitchen. She's jabbering on about something as usual, something about Shepherd's Pie, but that's _her_. And that's Rose, mumbling into her mobile in the other room. Jackie turns to the Doctor, mouth open and ready to blast the alien with half a dozen questions.

"That's you," the Doctor says before she can speak.

"Yeah, I got that," she whispers furiously, placing hands on hips. Taking a step closer to him in the narrow hall, she looks him up and down with a defiant gleam in her eyes, fed up with all this. It's one thing to abandon them in a parallel universe, but to take Jackie back to the real universe when Rose is still stuck?

"Other you, not you-you," he adds, raising a hand up to scratch behind his ear.

"What about it?" Jackie wonders loudly. He shushes her and she glowers at him.

He holds up a little package with what looks like spices in it.

"Put that in other-you's tea," he orders. That's all. No, 'I'm sorry for abandoning all of you on a parallel world,' or 'let me tell you what the _HELL_ is going on around here.' Then he's slipping around the corner, pointing his sonic stick-thing at the door, and the doorbell rings.

Jackie's eyes fly wide and she looks at him, panicked. He beckons her to him, and hesitantly she makes her way into the room. He nearly shuts the door, enclosing them into the closet. She hears herself humming, heading for the door, and then the Doctor shoves her out of the closet. Jackie nearly slams into the opposite wall, barely stopping herself. Even still, her shoes squeak on the floor, and other-her comes to a halt by the door, head tilting back cautiously.

In a split second, Jackie has hurled herself into the kitchen. She freezes, adrenaline rushing through her, and prays that other-Jackie didn't see her. The Doctor never mentioned anything about it (as a matter of fact, the Doctor never seemed to talk much around her) but Jackie suspects that something like this wouldn't end well. Maybe it'll cause her to die, or cause the world to combust, or-

_Focus_, Jackie tells herself. She moves over to the tea cups and quickly determines which one is her own. Rose has more milk in hers, the sweet addict she is. Ripping the package open, Jackie dumps the brownish spices into the tea and watches as they dissolve.

"That's weird," other-Jackie says from down the hall, causing Jackie to knock the milk onto the floor. Thankfully, it's closed.

"What is?" Rose asks. She doesn't sound like she actually cares, too busy staring, entranced, at the phone pressed to her ear.

There are footsteps coming from the hallway. Other-Jackie is nearly back. Panicking, Jackie presses herself to the wall by the kitchen door.

"No one there," other-Jackie says. She's rolling her eyes now. "It's probably those kids playin' tricks on us again. I told the landlord, Rose. Told him, I did. I said those kids would be nothing but trouble. But he didn't listen. Said he couldn't discriminate. Can you _believe_ that?"

"No, mum," Rose says half-heartedly.

Suddenly, the Doctor is there. He takes Jackie by the hand and pulls them around the corner just as other-Jackie turns to make her way to the kitchen.

"What was all that for?" Jackie hisses.

The Doctor gives her a warning look. She can practically hear him shushing her again; ironic, considering he was the one acting like a puppy on steroids every time Rose brought him home.

"I need you to talk to Rose," he whispers. Her name sounds bitter on his lips. "I need you...I need you to try to convince her not to go with me."

"You think other-me wouldn't have done that?" Jackie asks, incredulous. It isn't as if she handed Rose off to his other incarnation. Gave him a few slaps, she did.

"Not the point, Jackie," he very nearly snaps. The look on his face is scaring her. She can't find anything human in it. "If she goes with me now, they'll be nothing stopping our separation at Bad Wolf Bay. This is the only moment where time can be re-written." He grimaces, though.

Jackie stares at him for a moment, concluding, "You're not supposed to be doing this."

"No." He sounds like he hates to admit it. "This moment is very nearly fixed. The only moment when it isn't-"

His voice drifts off, but Jackie catches the meaning all the same.

"I'm the only one that can do this?" Never hurts to clarify. It seems as if the Doctor would have a better chance, what with Rose worshipping him and all.

The Doctor nods. "You've just placed a mild sedative in other-you's drink. I'll take care of the body while you talk to Rose."

"You _drugged_ me?"

"Only temporarily," he mumbles, not sounding all that sorry about it.

She really wants to slap him.

"Jackie, please," he begs. "We've only got a moment to do this. Otherwise it will be too late, and we'll both lose her."

For a moment, Jackie wonders if he is able to see inside her head, down to the memories of Rose in those three days where Jackie thought she might not come back to her and Pete. Then she realizes that he doesn't have to; he's got memories of his own, the suffering he's gone through since losing Rose. She takes a deep breath and nods, determined to help her daughter if nothing else.

"What do I do first?"

"Other-you will be out cold in a moment. I'll put her somewhere safe while you talk to Rose." He sounds calm, but Jackie can see through it to the desperation. He wants so badly to be reunited with Rose; it's eating away at him.

She nods for a final time and waits in the hall. A moment later, the sound of other-Jackie's voice dies off. Jackie raises her own voice and begins prattling at Rose. She goes on about the wine she found, wondering if the Doctor will have it. When Jackie reaches the kitchen, she realizes that Rose is no longer speaking with the Doctor. There's only one other place she'd be. Gathering up the two cups of tea, Jackie makes her way to Rose's room.

Sure enough, Rose has gotten a duffle down and is shoving her clothes in as quickly as she can. (They're going to get wrinkled that way, Jackie is tempted to point out, but doesn't. It's clear that Rose is all too ready to get out of here, away from her mother. The thought hurts.)

"I was wondering whether he drinks or not?" Jackie asks.

"Yeah, he does," Rose mumbles, turning to face her mother. Jackie's breath catches her in chest. This Rose is so much younger, so much lighter than the Rose Jackie has been dealing with lately. She's only just started her travels with the Doctor. This is what the Doctor meant, Jackie notes, when he said that Jackie is the only one who could change things. The moment that Rose steps aboard the TARDIS and unpacks her things, she won't be able to let go of the life the Doctor has offered her. Jackie can imagine how wonderful it all is, seeing universes the human mind could never dream of. But for Rose, it is the beginning of the end.

It isn't hard to summon the words. Jackie's heart is heavy enough, the tears burning at the the edges of her eyes. It's her baby girl, and if Jackie has to go about failing the rest of her life, she might as well try to save the most important person in her life.

"Don't go sweetheart," she breathes, thinking of the wall separating them from the other universe, remembering the way that Rose had crumpled against it, sobbing the Doctor's name over and over, begging him not to leave her all alone. "Please don't go."

She knows even before Rose lifts her head that it is a lost cause. Rose cannot possibly understand at this point. She's too young, hasn't yet realized what _forever_ means when he's on the other side of the wall.

"Mum, I've already told you that I'll be back soon. Just let me do this." Rose's tone brings back memories of second hand uniforms and watching little girls holding their dad's hands. "Just let me do this one thing."

"You think it will be forever," Jackie murmers sadly, "but it won't be. He'll leave you behind and I'll have to pick up the pieces."

It's the wrong thing to say. Rose's face goes cold, closing down.

"He promised me that he would never leave me behind," Rose growls, turning back to her bag and throwing a few last things in it before zipping it up. "You wouldn't understand."

Jackie staggers back a step, thoughts of Pete swarming through her mind. She swallows back the tears. Rose looks as though she's already regretting what she's said.

"I know exactly how it feels to lose someone too soon," Jackie says, "and I don't want the same for you. I just want you to be happy."

Rose's face softens. She reaches out and folds Jackie into a hug, her hair tickling Jackie's neck.

"I'll be fine, mum," she promises. "I trust the Doctor with my life."

"I know, sweetheart." Jackie can't keep the tear from rolling down her cheek. _That's exactly the problem_. "I know."

* * *

When Rose has left the flat with her first bag, Jackie roams the flat, searching for the Doctor. She finds him in Rose's room, sitting on the edge of her bed and rubbing his fingers absentmindedly over the sheets. He looks up as Jackie comes in; there are dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she offers, knowing it isn't enough. Knowing nothing is enough.

He shrugs. "Maybe this is how it was meant to be."

Jackie sits next to him. "Where are you from?" She isn't sure what makes her ask. Maybe it's the fact that he'd let her see _him_, the him that couldn't hide behind manic grins and bouncing about.

"I've been travelling without Rose for a few years now," the Doctor admits. He folds his hands together. "When I visited the Ood-"

"The _what_?"

He waves her off with "alien species" and she decides that she'd rather not know. "They told me that my time in this body is nearly up. I suppose I just-"

The Doctor wanted Rose to see him with this face, so she'd know him. It's oddly romantic, and yet...

"Was this for you, or for her?"

"What?" The Doctor's head swivels and Jackie winces under his scrutiny.

"Trying to make her leave now," Jackie presses, even as the dangerous look in the Doctor's eyes grows. "Was that for her sake, or because you've gotten tired of living without her?"

He presses his lips together and doesn't answer. It's answer enough.

"Well, I'll tell you what," says Jackie, glancing over at him. His whole body is tense, as though he's ready to bolt. "As much as I hate you for takin' her away from me, I wouldn't change a thing." At his shocked look, she smiles. Actually _smiles_ at him.

"And why is that?" The Doctor asks dryly, fingers squeezing so tightly that the skin has bleached white.

"Because you made her who she's supposed to be," Jackie says. The words slip out of her mouth, each one stabbing her in the chest. "She hated it, bein' home with me, even though she never said it. I could tell. I could never provide for her the way that she needed. After her dad died, I put everything in to keeping us alive. I put everything into her, and nothing into me. And she noticed. So she started treating herself that way. Never got her A-levels, even though she's brilliant. She said she'd rather help me pay the bills by getting a job." Jackie swallows hard, her throat glued shut with tears. To her surprise, the Doctor's hand folds over her own, squeezing lightly.

"But then you came along, Doctor, and you know what she said to me, when you were stuck at Satellite Five?" The Doctor shakes his head slowly, eyes glazed over. "She said that she couldn't live like us anymore. That it wasn't enough. That she had to be out there with you, keepin' things from happening, saying no because it was the right thing to do." Jackie takes a deep breath, dropping another bomb. "She told me about savin' you, you know."

The Doctor jerks at that. "She said she didn't remember," he whispers, voice hoarse.

"Well, she did," Jackie answers, squeezing his hand back. His hand is a vice about hers now, nearly painful. "And she told me that if she had to do it again, she would. That she hadn't regretted a second of it."

"She could've died," the Doctor breathes. She barely catches the words.

"No." The tears pierce through now, soaking Jackie's cheeks again. "I saw her die, in the days after she was separated from you. I couldn't even recognize her anymore. She was just...empty." They sit in silence for a moment. "She loves you."

The Doctor inhales, the sound sharp. "I...that's why I'm doing this."

She knows what he's feeling like. It isn't hard to recall the days after Pete died, the days she walked around the house like a zombie, caring for Rose without really thinking about it. She knows what grief is.

"If you really love her, Doctor, then let her go."

Not long after, standing in the TARDIS in the Powell Estates as snow blankets the ground, he will. But for now, he grieves.

Jackie turns away, uncomfortable in the face of his grief. Partly because even after all the near-death experiences Rose had detailed, Jackie still wants to think of the man as a lonely god, impenetrable in the face of human emotions. Partly because he's grieving for Rose, and Jackie really doesn't want to think about what that entails. And partly because he's an alien, a thousand year old one at that, and she's never been quite comfortable seeing him near her Rose. That might make her a stupid ape (yeah, Rose told her about that one too) but she's not changing her mind on it, so there's that.

"Take me back," she hears herself say.

He inhales, a shudder running through him. "Sorry, Jackie. 'M so used to shutting you out. Say that again, yeah?"

She rolls her eyes at his sad attempt. "Take me back," Jackie repeats. "I believe that you love her, and I believe that you always meant well, even if you were hopeless at keeping at her safe. But right now, my daughter is dying and I need to be there to pick up the pieces."

Jackie pretends not to see the way he flinches. She waits for some melodramatic speech that will rival the ones he's given before, but there is nothing except the press of the Doctor's hand against her wrist.

* * *

The wind howls. The waves crash, dragging at the sand, but Jackie barely sees any of it.

She's too busy sprinting toward Rose, ignoring the nausea building in her throat. As she draws closer, Jackie can see the tears painted across the Rose's face, can see Rose's legs giving out underneath her.

Rose hurls herself into Jackie's arms. "Mum," she wails, fingernails digging into Jackie's skin. "Mum, I can't." She dissolves into tears, pressing her face into the crook of Jackie's neck.

Jackie can still feel the press of the Doctor's fingers. Her wrist feels warm.

"I'm gonna pick up the pieces," she murmers into her daughter's ear, rocking them back and forth.

* * *

_end_

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End file.
